Source: http://mummynew.blogspot.com/2010/10/how-much-fun-can-you-have-with.html
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
The perfect woman
I have been tagged. By the 'be-wetsuited' London City Mum, no less. She is bullying me into confessing to some extremely personal details which, well, I suppose I'd better give you or she'll be after me with her snorkel or something.
So, she has asked me to give my recipe for Mr or Mrs Right - the top ten things I look for in a man or woman. As she pointed out in her own post about this, being married and all that (with an anniversary looming next week if you don't mind!), it's a bit too late to be pitching for the 'perfect man'. London City Mum got around this by opting to share her recipe for 'the perfect woman' and I'm going along with her, like a complete sheep.
1. Must be able to handle their drink, and none of this 'I'll have a white wine spritzer nonsense' either - we're talking proper pints down the pub and plenty o'wine if at home.
2. Must also be able to scoff their way through an entire tub of Pringles in one sitting. None of this putting the lid back on to finish another night. What other night? Eat them all now!
3. Must not be incompetent at DIY stuff or incapable of cutting the grass.
4. Must have an interesting assortment of shoes and bags, but not enough to warrant a separate wardrobe for them. Talking of which....
5. Must have a totally disorganised wardrobe which the concept of 'capsule' has never got close to. Women with organised wardrobes frighten me and make me feel inadequate - just sayin'.
6. Must happily admit to watching 'The X Factor' and 'I'm a Celebrity'..., as a guilty pleasure if nothing else.
7. Must not watch soaps or anything with the word CSI in the title. Sorry - but the soaps are always on at kids bedtime and I've never watched a CSI anything, so we would probably have absolutely nothing to talk about. And that could prove to be quite awkward.
8. Must never decline pudding. Ever. Even if already feeling completely stuffed.
9. Must be calm in a crisis and not scream when confronted with mice, spiders or prawns with their heads still on.
10. Must have at least one entirely shitty day with their children per week which they bravely struggle through, shout at their husband about, have a small cry about, tweet about to anyone who is listening and then rectify the situation with a large glass of wine and some crisps (see points 1 and 2 above), and carry on the next day as if nothing happened.
I now pass the honour of this blogging task onto the following lovely people. Enjoy.
Zooarchaeologist at Being a Mummy
Emily at More than Just a Mother
New blogger Laura at Musings on a Life Quite Ordinary
Jamie at The Life and Times of a Househusband
Source: http://hotcrossmum.blogspot.com/2010/10/perfect-woman.html
FuneralHomes.Com Digs Down Deep For Personal Injury Lawyers
When the email arrived, my first thought was: Can this be for real? The pitch that came from FuneralHomes.com (coded “NoFollow“) was this: They are a directory of funeral homes. And they want to inquire about my “interest in a new marketing channel” that they have “for firms specializing in Medical Malpractice, Wrongful Death & [...]
Where, oh where, are my feelings?
I used to be too sensitive. Now I hardly feel.
The past several months have been an extended climax of emotion and pain and it's as if it's happening to someone else. I have removed me from myself and am now driving a body forward, but am no longer experiencing it first hand. I'm exhausted.
I wake up, I smile, I love my boy, I feel free and happy, but it is so one-note. One color. One flavor. The deeper nuances are out of my reach. I am numb.
I signed a lease for a new apartment last week. Rooster is moving back into the house and I'm moving out the first week in December. It makes sense: I can't do yard work or fix a goddamned thing. He needs the garage and shed for all his crap. I'm over the moon about it, really. Seriously. I have visions of a maintenance man at my beck and call, manicured grounds, a pool that cleans itself, a walk to the grocery store, a little closer to downtown and my friends who live north.
It's such a strange mix, numbness and happiness. On the one hand I am protected, on the other I am held distant from really connecting. I call it The Wall. I've been accused of having it and warned of its ability to make me miss out on things, but then again, that's what I love about it. Its other super power is apathy: I don't give a shit if I'm missing out on things. (I feel like I'm finally understanding all the asshole boys I dated in my 20s. They really and truly didn't feel anything after all! It can happen!)
Though, to be honest it's not shielding me from worry. I do worry that all of these things I'm not feeling are going to come back and bite me in the ass. Yet, I also believe in the process -- oh, how I believe in the process -- and that what's happening to me and how I'm handling myself is the exactly right thing to be doing.
You see what's happening here? Up, down, back and forth. Holy crap, I'm a bloody mess.
When Rooster and Hawk were in Kansas City for a week last week I hung out with an awesome blogger (holla, Allison!) Friday, Saturday I went to Bloggy Boot Camp (more on that later), immediately after the conference I drove to San Antonio (1.5 hours away) for a surprise 59th & 70th birthday party, drove back to Austin and caught the tail end of a bachelor party including a party bus and drinking until 3:30 am. Sunday, I was spent. And raw.
I could feel a mountain of emotions just around the corner (exhaustion and being hungover will do that to me, apparently). A friend came over for interior design advice and I could feel the tears prick in my eyes as we looked at catalogs to feather his nest. I remember poring over images looking for just the right pillow or rug to make our house a home. Now I spend all my time cataloging just how to dismantle it. Which couch to take, which plates, which decor.
Pluck, pluck, pluck. The nest is gone.
When my friend left the tears had vanished, as had the tremor of emotion that had begun. I was back to Robot Jessica. And so I did something dramatic: I gathered up everything Rooster had ever given me as a gift, his box of pictures, one of his fantasy books that he loves so dearly, and the one photo of us as a family I've left framed in Hawk's room and put them all in a pile on the bed and I sat and looked at it.
I stared at it until the tears came and I shook with sorrow. I fondled the sunglasses, the mini iPod with the 1-year dating anniversary inscription that reads "Thank you, Jessica, for an amazing year!", I held my platinum wedding rings and remembered their weight on my finger.
Finally, I was feeling something: disappointment, uncertainty, fear, sadness. My broken fucking heart.
I slept for a week with that pile of things on what used to be his side of the bed. It made me feel something and for that I was grateful.
Rooster and I are getting divorced. It's a done deal. We're unraveling the life we made and rebraiding a new one based on friendship and partnership. It seems fast, but we've been emotionally disconnected for much longer than we have been physically.
I wonder if I seem different to my friends and family because I definitely feel that way. I feel immense strength at going about this the hard way, the kind way, the painful way. I feel distant and cut off. I feel free as a fucking bird. I feel crushing disappointment. I feel fear. I feel hope. I feel happy.
I'm so proud of how I'm handing this, how we are handling this. It's a rite of passage, doing this the hard way. I am not a coward.
So, Feelings, I know you're out there. I'll try to check in on you every once in a while, but I know you're not going anywhere. Until then, thanks for keeping your distance and I'll see you again soon.
Source: http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/ThisIsWorthwhile/~3/8sgyTRo_5Co/where-oh-where-are-my-feelings.html
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)